Road in Nebraska
by nyxlily
Summary: The road stretches before them. A storm is brewing a few miles behind. Dean's in the driver's seat and Sam is content with that. A quiet moment in the brothers' chaotic life. Gen.


**Summary:** The road stretches before them. A storm is brewing a few miles behind. Dean's in the driver's seat and Sam is content with that.  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Sam and Dean. No slash ever.  
**Standard Disclaimer**

**A/N: **I couldn't sleep and all I could picture was Dean standing at the side of the road, Sam leaning against the Impala watching him. It involves a wheat field and a sunset, and a sense of melancholy. Well, the melancholy is not a surprise as almost everything with Sam and Dean is so angst filled. Although this story isn't angst. I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to find a state filled with wheat fields, the time when they turn golden and ready to harvest, and making sure that thunderstorms are possible during said time of harvest. I also tried to find out if there IS a two-lane county road in Nebraska, and while I couldn't find confirmation, Google Earth seems to show that it does.

* * *

They have been driving northward up the lonely two-lane county road for miles, the radio a low background noise and the hum of the road and the steady engine rumble sounding in harmony, filling the silence. Dean is tapping out a rhythm that is at total odds with the music playing from the tape deck, each random beat of the hand against the wheel driving Sam closer to wanting to do something insane, like snatching his brother's hands from the wheel while they cruise at a comfortable 65 mph down the road. The clenching of his jaw gives away his irritation. 

Sam, pointedly ignoring his brother and the off-beat rhythm, glances out his window and can see a storm gathering at their back from the side mirror, but they are at least an hour ahead of the storm front; right now they have clear sky ahead and the setting sun to their left. Wheat fields surrounds them, stretching away to all sides. _To the ends of the Earth,_ Sam muses. They wave in the wind, rolling like an ocean of gold, but the scattered farms and the odd tree gives away the illusion.

Dean grins, glancing over to Sam. "Corn-husker State," he said suddenly.

Sam frowns at the non sequitur and asks before he can stop himself, "What?"

"That's the nickname for Nebraska." Dean gives Sam an amused smile before returning his attention to the road. Sam stares at his weird older brother a half second more before looking away, wondering from what corner of the mind did Dean dredge up that trivia.

Another ten miles passes by in companionable silence. Sam is drifting in a kaleidoscope of half-remembered past as he stares out the rolled down window, annoying sibling forgotten as he searches the landscape for memories fogged by time. He catches the scent of the storm on the wind, a reminder that it's there but not yet a threat, but it is the wheat fields that teases at the edge of his memories, and he can almost glimpse the bright sunshine in the picture his mind tries to form. Figures vague but familiar stays just out of focus, and a sense of loss accompanies them.

Sam is jarred from his reverie when Dean pulls them to the shoulder of the nearly deserted county road. He looks over to his older and, as Dean likes to add, wiser brother, who flashes him another smile and shrugs. "Need to stretch my legs." Then he steps out, closing the door gently and walking across the empty two lanes to the edge of a wheat field, looking out toward the west.

Sam also gets out, coming around the front of the car to the driver's side to lean against the hood, the now silenced engine warming his back. His brother is dark against the dying light, his shadow stretching across the road and reaches the dust covered Impala. Sam's mind randomly thinks that some part of Dean will always be connected to the car.

Dean is still, his back to Sam and decidedly _not_ stretching. His hands are in the pockets of his leather jacket, legs slightly apart; the epitome of calm, of quietness that stills the sounds carried on the wind. The sun seems to be putting out a special show for its very own private audience of two as it sets. Rays shoots through scattered clouds and the sky is lit with fiery orange and burning gold, a stark contrast to the ominous thunderheads to the south, dark and purple and sprayed with increasing flashes of lightning.

But in front of Sam is Dean, and all else is irrelevant except the feeling that they _are_ the only two people left, and more than anything he wishes his brother is closer. Even as he thinks this Dean turns, profile against the last visages of light and his features hidden in shadow. He is watching the coming storm, gauging the distance.

Sam resists the urge to reach out to touch him as Dean walks back to the car. He can not, however, stop himself from studying his brother as he makes his way back, though with dusk setting in and the last of the light at his back, Sam can make little out; part of Dean remains a secret to him, and he privately acknowledges that that will always hold true.

Dean raises a brow at Sam, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "C'mon Sam, let's see if we can outrun the storm."

Sam returns the smile automatically. He follows his brother's earlier example and glances to the south. His brother's words are heavy with meaning.

"What if we can't?" Sam asks, still watching the dark clouds.

"Don't matter. A little rain's not gonna slow us down."

Sam grins. "With the way you drive? Can't blame me for being a little concerned."

Dean snorts, shoving Sam aside before opening his door. "Dude, don't _ever_ question my driving skills. Now get your ass back in the car."

Sam gives a little huff of laughter as he circles back to the passenger side and gets in. Dean wasn't finished. "And for your information, the only times my car got anything bigger than a scratch on her was with _you_ at the wheels."

Sam looks to Dean indignantly. "It's not like it was on purpose!" Dean glares, Sam concedes, "Okay, the first time maybe, but it was under duress."

"Whatever." Dean starts the engine and slips the gear into place. He makes sure that no car is coming before pulling out. Given the empty state of the road since they've turned onto it almost forty miles back, Sam is sure he was just making a point.

Sam relaxes back against the leather seat and watches the dusk fade into twilight, the storm still raging behind them in the rear-view mirror; the scent of rain and ozone has become stronger. He glances over to Dean, once again tapping a rhythm of his own making on the wheel, out of beat with the music on the radio, then he closes his eyes, trusting his brother to get them to the next motel. Perhaps not before the storm catches up, but at least arriving safe at their destination.


End file.
